#martianbugsbunny writes fic

[martianbugsbunny]

Hour One (A Kalluzeb Fic)

*falling down the stairs* I did it! I finished my post-Zero Hour fic, it's so tasty to me <3 I'm not even gonna ramble about it I'm just gonna get right to the fic bc I love it!!! read on and enjoy!!!

When the ship was safely in hyperspace, Kanan quietly let Kallus into a room on the Ghost that was currently deserted. Judging by the half-made bunk beds against the wall, Kallus assumed it was living quarters, but he was too distracted by the growing pain in his shoulders and ribs to try and piece together whose room it was.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Kanan said. And then Kallus was alone again, with the forgiving, kind voice of the Jedi echoing in his brain. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be spoken to softly. He was lucky these people whom he’d hunted across the galaxy for years had even bothered to pick up his escape pod, rather than speeding away from the Imperial fleet and applying the rule of “serves him right.”

Something in him cracked. He began to sob, silently, terrified of what he had done in betraying the Empire, overwhelmed by a thousand different strident feelings he couldn’t even name. The heavy breaths hurt (every movement seemed to hurt, now that his adrenaline rush was wearing thin) and his head was pounding. Was the world really spinning, or was that just him?

At the first hiss of the door sliding open, Kallus dragged his sleeve hastily across his face to remove any tears or snot that might give away that he’d been crying—a bad decision, really, given his black eye, which stung at the rough contact.

It wasn’t Kanan who stepped into the room, slightly awkwardly and with bright green eyes that reflected back at Kallus those unnamable emotions.

It was Zeb.

Kallus took a step back, hands clenched at his sides. He knew his eyes were red and he could feel spots on his face where he had missed tears, and he hoped Zeb wouldn’t notice. He had no right to cry in front of this man, of all people.

Zeb stared at him for a moment, and Kallus could feel him mentally checking off all the things that were currently wrong on Kallus’s person. Hunched posture from his injured ribs; blotchy face; bloodstains on his uniform and dried blood on his lip.

“I brought you some clothes,” Zeb said. In the other hand he held a medkit, and Kallus realized with a sinking feeling that those supplies were for him. What a waste of resources that seemed. “They’re probably not your size, but they’re better than the Imperial things you’re wearing.”

Kallus took a breath before answering, surprised at how steady he was able to force his voice to be. “Thank you,” he said.

Then there was a horrible pause as Kallus realized he wouldn’t be able to remove his chest armor, much less his shirt, without help, and he could see the exact same knowledge dawning on Zeb’s face. “Karabast,” he said. “You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you.”

Kallus shook his head after only a brief moment of thought. He didn’t have the strength to punish himself any further. Whether or not he was worthy of Zeb’s help would have to wait until he was healed. “If you don’t mind,” he said, taking another shaky breath as he once again met Zeb’s gaze.

He didn’t look angry. He almost seemed…proud? That wasn’t right. Kallus was seeing things; his brain had been shaken up by his escape and he was imagining things that weren’t there. “I don’t,” Zeb said. He crossed the room and set the clothes down on the lower bunk. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the empty space next to them.

Kallus did as he was told, relieved to be off his feet. The leg he’d injured on Bahryn had been hurting horribly since his fight with Thrawn, particularly his knee. He might need to consider getting a brace, he realized, if he wanted to keep fighting—which he did.

Zeb unclasped the sides of Kallus’s ISB-issued armor, dumping it on the floor. “Sabine’ll get a kick out of painting that,” Zeb said. “You can wear our colors instead of Imperial ones.” “Give it to somebody else,” Kallus said. “I don’t want it.” Zeb gave him another strange look that he couldn’t parse. “Whatever you say.” He began to work at the clasps of Kallus’s uniform shirt. They definitely wasn't built for his large, clawed fingers. “So…you’re a Rebel now,” he said. “Still think you made the right decision?”

There weren’t words to describe how firmly Kallus was convinced of it. He was terrified, staring into the face of the unknown, but he knew he’d done the right thing—he just wasn’t sure how to live with the consequences. How to build a new life for himself out of the ruins of his old one…which had been built on the ruins of so many other people’s lives.

So Kallus simply nodded, trying to keep himself from spilling any more tears. The thing that made that impossible was the gentle way Zeb worked the unclasped shirt from his torso, pulling off one sleeve and then the other, grumbling angrily in that deep, rumbling voice when he saw the bruises on Kallus’s side.

“I apologize,” Kallus said immediately, his voice stiff and cracked like old, uncared-for leather. “This isn’t fair.” Zeb helped him get his arms into the new shirt he’d brought, leaving the clasps undone; the medics would only have to undo them again later to treat his injuries properly. Then he draped a quilted jacket across Kallus’s shoulders.

“You just uprooted your entire life, Kallus,” Zeb said, sighing and adjusting a non-existent crease in the jacket. “I would think it was weird if you didn’t cry.”

“Not in front of you. You shouldn’t comfort me.” Kallus moved backwards, further into the bunk, away from Zeb’s touch. He didn’t deserve empathy and he didn’t want pity. “This shouldn’t be your problem.”

Zeb got up from the floor where he’d been kneeling and sat on the edge of the bunk, staring at the opposite wall instead of at Kallus. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “Maybe I should say it’s none of my business. Maybe I should leave you to deal with it alone. But when you worked with me on that ice moon, and saved my friends from the Empire, and fed us all that intel as Fulcrum, I think you kind of made yourself my business.” He turned back towards Kallus, his face serious, his eyes soft. “Now let me check your other injuries.”

Kallus complied, shifting closer to Zeb. Even if it didn’t sit right with him, he didn’t think he could refuse Zeb anything. He would do whatever he was asked, whatever he was told—even allow Zeb to take on some of his burden—if it would make a fraction of a difference. If it would help him so much as an inch towards making amends.

With his broad hands carefully gentle, Zeb put a few stitches in Kallus’s broken lower lip. Kallus wondered where Zeb had learned those skills; if it was gained during his time in the Honor Guard of Lasan or in the Rebellion. For a moment, he was lost in wondering, searching Zeb’s face while he was intent on his task as though he could find an answer there. He only realized Zeb had paused and asked him a question when Zeb tilted his head to the side, staring at Kallus for an answer of his own.

“Could you repeat that?”

Zeb rolled his eyes. “I said, can you see alright? That black eye doesn’t look too good.”

His eyes were dry now, but there was still a blur in the left side of his vision. “Actually, I can’t,” he said, swallowing hard. “Everything to the left is hazy.”

“It'll probably need a while to heal,” Zeb said. “If it doesn’t, we’ll get you fitted with some visual aids.” He dabbed something cold and clear on the bruised skin. “There’s nothing more I can do until we land, but you should be fine.”

The pain in his side begged to argue, and he was pretty sure that something in there was broken, but Kallus nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything."

How could he put that everything into words? Thank you for not killing me on Bahryn, thank you for telling me to look for the answers, thank you for believing me when I was Fulcrum, thank you for picking me up just now, thank you for tending my wounds.

He didn’t need to. The way Zeb was looking at him, he already knew.

“We have enough people on board to handle things,” Zeb said, his voice equally low. “I can stick around here for a while if you want the company.”

Kallus felt a smile tugging at the stitches on his lip. More everything to be grateful for. “Alright.”

They sat there together on the bunk for a while in silence. It was a comfortable silence, somehow, and Kallus finally began to relax, not breathing easily past the injuries to his ribs but certainly breathing more easily than before.

“You were limping,” Zeb said, breaking the quiet. “When you came on board you were limping.”

“Once you’re wounded, that body part becomes a target. It’s not so bad, now that my weight’s been off it.” Zeb leaned back against the wall. “That’s good.” He extended one arm to Kallus. “Come on, Kal. We’ve got time before we land anywhere, you can rest.”

There was a moment of hesitation, of doubt, and then Kallus allowed himself to settle next to Zeb, with a strong purple arm around his shoulders. As he started drifting off, safe for the first time in months and knowing his injuries would be cared for, Kallus thought he felt Zeb’s fingers gently rubbing across his arm, and there was a little pit of warmth in his chest that kept the cold of pain and guilt out.

[martianbugsbunny]

me when trying to write anything fluffy or cute

me: does it always have to be that serious

the part of my brain that controls the imagery, symbolism, and themes department: yes

[stardreamer28]

frankenwolf masterpost!

following @martianbugsbunny​ here’s my current series. Monster & Monster, all my frankenwolf fics as they’re added: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3430390 1st vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKWpk-p-j4I 2nd vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHBSG7U3R-k more fics and vids for all my ships will come in the future, probably starting october. as with before I can’t list fanart ‘cause there’s so much but it will be under the frankenwolf and ruby x victor tag :) enjoy! I also wanted to give ya’ll some context so what comes out of my brain isn’t so confusing lol. I wasn’t planning on Trevor, the first frankenwolf baby, to be adopted. But he is and it somewhat works out. Yes he has the same name as the son in my Alias fic but I liked it. Different characters though as you’ll find out. This Trevor is legally blind. The adoption idea was an accident but came out of wanting some cute father/son moments. That whole process will most likely have it’s own oneshot. This Trevor is played by Johnny Kincaid if you want to have an actor for reference. The Trevor in my Alias fic was Steven R McQueen. Johnny is mostly blind, albino, and from what I understand can   see colors and vague shapes (from his mom’s posts it depends what it is). So that is my Trevor Zachary (Lucas) Frankenstein. As for the other two frankenwolf babies: Theodore is smart but more into music than science. He also spends alot of time with Ruby in the kitchen. (I’m guessing Jack Fisher if you wanna cast someone). He’s biologically theirs. Sophie is pure a mini Ruby including being their only wolf child. But also wants to be in the lab 24/7 like Victor. She’s biologically theirs. (played by  Ella Ramacieri) I was not planning on Victor & Ruby having more than one child because writing kids is hard! But for this fic I needed someone to play opposite Trevor. But because writing children is so hard Theodore and Sophie may or may not appear in future fics. I might play around with when Sophie was born but not a definite plan yet. I have no plans for those 2 so unless someone sends ideas Trevor may be the only kid in future Frankenwolf fics ‘cause I do have his planned out. Does that all make sense?

[martianbugsbunny]

doing my kalluzeb rite of passage and working on a post-zero hour fic

[martianbugsbunny]

what was supposed to be a one-shot has become a fic of at least three chapters, muse have mercy on me

[martianbugsbunny]

heyyyy crosshunters wanna crumb from a WIP?

[martianbugsbunny]

He Waits By The Riverside (A Bad Batch Fic)

*approaches in a swan paddleboat* so I cried myself to sleep last night about the fact that Tech is actually dead, hence the need for a boat. I'm living in a lake of my own tears at this point. I didn't cry for him properly when he died because I had hope that he wasn't really dead after all and now it's hitting so hard, especially because he's the only one who didn't get to grow old. My chest gets tight when I think about how horribly unfair that seems. So I wrote a fic to put that sadness somewhere, inspired by He Waits, By The Riverside from Renegade Nell. I tried my hardest to make the fic feel the same way the song does (absolutely heartbreaking in a way that holds your hand) and honestly I think I did a pretty good job. So read on and enjoy (?)

Tech opened his eyes. His goggles were gone—his sight was acceptable without them, but he couldn’t see the more precise details of the landscape surrounding him. One was thing was certain, though: it wasn’t what he had been expecting when he plummeted, heart stopped, chest tight, through the clouds.

“Welcome, beloved,” a voice said. Not the gravelly voice of his sergeant, or Wrecker’s warm one, or Omega’s enthusiastic chirp, or Echo’s soft laugh—not even Crosshair’s pinched tone. It was the sort of voice that seemed like the wind, drifting out in one instant and fading away in the next, with no single pitch or volume but constantly shifting, shifting, shifting like the fog Tech had fallen through. Wind itself, however, was absent from the surroundings, not even a breath of it stirring.

Tech looked around, sitting up, searching for the voice’s owner. There was a pounding in his ears, either his heart or a far-off drum; he couldn’t decipher which, or even which made more sense in his current context.

The first thing he noticed properly was, at his feet, a mass of water that was not quite a river. It was long and gently curving into the distance like a river, and he estimated it was about five feet wide, but it didn’t flow. It was utterly still, just as the air was. It was unnatural, and yet somehow, it didn’t fill him with the creeping dread that perhaps it should have.

“You’ve come later than I expected,” the voice said. “Many of your kind joined me much sooner.”

Tears were blurring Tech's vision a little more, although he didn’t know why. A bird with a lilting song—one he could identify after a moment as a Yavin nightingale—was singing in the distance. Fish glittered vaguely in the river that didn’t flow past his feet, sunlight pouring down around them like rain.

That wasn’t right. The sunlight shouldn’t reach down here.

“Sooner than I hoped.”

The bird continued to sing, sweetly, brightly.

There were no bulrushes growing on the not-river banks, allowing Tech an unobstructed view of the creatures thrashing in the reflective water, scales aglow in the light that shouldn't have cut through the clouds. He couldn't bring himself to look up and see if there actually were any now.

“Ah, well.”

The sweet song was becoming a monotonous drone as it went endlessly, unhesitatingly, on. The fish in their sparkling glory were flames in Tech’s slightly unclear vision, kicking up sand from the bottom of the riverbed that drifted around them as the fog had about him. The reed grasses beneath him rustled as he got to his feet and turned his face to the cloudless grey sky.

He knew why he was crying.

A creature stood on the opposite bank, sheathed in a long white robe, bare-footed, with its face invisible except for a peculiarly unreadable grin made of white teeth and red lips. “Join me, love,” it said.

He knew why he was crying.

For a moment, there was a phantom pain across his body, the immense impact of sharp stones after a long fall. Another tear slipped down his bare face, and he knew he had succeeded. They were all safe: Hunter with his wide heart, Wrecker and his brilliant smile, Omega with her endless hope, Echo for his new purpose, maybe even Crosshair despite his mercurial loyalties.

He knew why he was crying.

“Do I have to?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer. This one time, he wished logic would fail to hold, and he could be released to rejoin the family he had made safe. To enjoy the fruits of his final and hardest labor.

“All that is loved becomes mine eventually,” it said. “You have been loved.”

Tech sobbed.

As the creature compelled him on, softly playing a military tune on an ebony fiddle and urging with its strange and sighing voice, Tech stepped into the river and crossed over to the other side.

….

In the still water—there were no fish to be seen from this angle—he could see them, by turns, running from the Empire, running towards the Empire, doing the best they could to keep their broken family from rifting any further, trying to mend it as best they could. It ached to watch, knowing they could never be truly whole again now that he was gone. Knowing that they were becoming more whole by the day, however, as Omega brought Crosshair back to them, and that he had sacrificed not only his life, but also his chance to be part of a reunited family.

Their lives continued to be dangerous, and every so often he would glance across the water, afraid he would see Hunter or Wrecker there and that the family on his side of the river would become more whole while that on the other side became more fractured and grief-stricken. He had a world without end. It hurt, but he would rather wait until the others were all old to hold them again. He didn’t want them to die young like he did, even if it meant sitting alone beside the water for another hundred years.

So Tech sat there, on the other side, and sang, slightly off-key, as though he could warn them, as though they could hear him, as though he could put off their final reunion for longer if only he was as determined as the nightingale that he could no longer hear.

“He waits by the riverside, and he waits by the road; he’ll play you his drum and the fiddle he’ll bow. So caution yourself—beware of his tongue.

“Cause all that is loved….”

Can crumble to none.

[martianbugsbunny]

love that point in writing a spicy fic where I have the beginning and the end but none of the actual spicy content

[martianbugsbunny]

Here u can have this screenshot of a...idk a thing I found in my notes app this morning

I'm pretty sure when I wrote this I was considering a post-Endgame fic and I was thinking about the "historians will call them best friends" trope and I was like yes...but when they're actually best friends is that ever important? or is the importance of a best friend to history only when the label can be used to ignore a sexual/romantic queer relationship

So I was doing this thing where Bucky thought about how in a couple of years his legacy would probably be erased from Steve's because he was just his best friend, no big deal right? nobody wants to read about that anymore, they want to read about the epic love story with a female British agent and anyway this is literally all I have I'm so annoyed at myself for not following through more because it looks like it would've been amazing and very sad

[martianbugsbunny]

To Convince You That I Love You (A Kalluzeb Fic): Chapter 3

*sheepishly* okay so I just forgot to post this chapter, the whole thing is a prisoner of the Notes folder but it's done except for proofreading/polishing. I'm very glad somebody happened to like one of the previous chapters today because otherwise I may never have remembered! Anyway, here's the next installment, read on and enjoy!

Zeb continued to pace once they were back at base. Kallus went into surgery immediately, what else was Zeb supposed to do? Hera had to give the mission report to the rest of Yavin’s leading council, and Sabine had gone to the mess hall to get food, but Ezra and Kanan joined Zeb in his waiting.

He knew he should feel grateful that he wasn’t alone...instead, he was annoyed that they were able to sit on the floor and meditate while Kallus, for all they knew, was dying.

He was very tempted to kick the kid as he passed by.

After a while, even pacing wasn’t enough. “He’s driving me crazy,” he started. Kanan opened his eyes and leaned forwards a bit. Ezra tried to keep his meditation pose, but his head turned towards the sound of Zeb’s voice.

“It wasn’t like this before, was it?” Zeb didn’t wait for an answer. “He used to be sensible—well, as sensible as Kallus gets. A couple months ago something changed.”

“Maybe he’s taking his emotions onto the field,” Kanan suggested. Kallus didn’t usually; his ISB training was enough to keep him from letting his feelings get in the way.

Besides, what could possibly have happened that not one of the Spectres was aware of? Surely one of them would have noticed if Kallus was being targeted by one of the many Rebels who loathed ex-Imperials.

“Maybe he has something to protect he didn’t have before.” Sabine offered her opinion as she entered, arms full of food. She kicked Ezra (lucky girl) to get his attention and handed him a bowl of stew. However irritating Yavin’s humid weather was, there were a lot of substantial plants to make food with, and swamp creatures for those who didn’t mind a tougher cut of meat.

Ezra only inspected his stew for a moment, to make sure there were no visible scales, before digging in. Zeb felt torn between wanting to eat until he couldn’t breathe and having no appetite at all. What was with him? He wasn’t like this most of the time.

Sabine shoved a mug of cold juice into his hands. “Has he been seeing anyone?” she asked.

Zeb felt the cold from the drink spike up through his hands, into his arms, heading directly to his chest. Suddenly he didn’t care about eating, one way or the other—he wanted to throw things, to swear, to dig his claws into a thick tree. Of course that was it. The most ridiculous, preposterous, insane thing in the galaxy and he believed it instantly: he loved Kallus.

The idea of Kallus loving someone else, loving someone else so much he drove himself to the brink of death to protect them, was painful. Only unrequited love hurt that much.

Zeb finally stopped pacing. A different kind of dread had settled into him, and he deeply wished it hadn’t. He preferred worrying about Kallus’s life to worrying about his heart.

When the medic came and told them that Kallus was going to survive, Zeb couldn’t help going in to see for himself, his relief that Kallus was alright the only thing stronger than the new grief overtaking him. He felt an ache of longing for just an hour ago, when his protectiveness of Kallus hadn't felt like an intrusion into a part of Kallus's life where he wasn't welcome; where somebody else filled the role Zeb only now realized he wanted with his entire being to fill himself.

As he watched Kallus sleep the unnaturally deep sleep of the injured and drugged, Zeb could only stand helplessly by as his desire to safeguard Kallus wrestled with the sinking feeling that he was utterly out of place.

[martianbugsbunny]

To Convince You That I Love You (A Kalluzeb Fic): Chapter 4

*spinning around slowly whilst dabbing* This is the last chapter of this fic! I never said it was going to be a long chapter fic, and four is more than I usually get to, but I'm still kind of sad that it's done already. I am, however, considering basically doing an AU of my own fic so I can have this short and sweet version and potentially (don't hold me to it) a longer version full of much more miscommunication and angst before Kallus and Zeb get together. (Hehe.) But for now this is where the buck stops, so read on and enjoy the finale!

Kallus could feel the fog in his brain even while he was unconscious. He was drifting, somewhere in a deep darkness, and he couldn’t see so much as a beam of light to lead him out. Maybe there was no out.

Then he felt a vibration in his marrow. He knew it before he even recognized what it was.

A deep voice cut through the fog. “Wake up, Kal,” it said. And since it was in his bones, how could he refuse?

He opened his eyes. Right there, standing beside his cot, was Zeb. Kallus let his ISB training fall to the wayside as his eyes filled with tears, and he did nothing to stop them spilling out.

He would’ve expected Zeb to be uncomfortable with such a display of emotion. He had, in fact, seen that in action before…regarding other members of the crew, that is. But Zeb knelt down next to the cot (he was so tall, he was still about gut-level with the low frame) and, leaning his head on one hand with his elbow on the cot frame, laid the other on Kallus’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, Kal,” he said, and his voice was so unbelievably tender, yet filled with so much pain, Kallus wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him—for a second. Garazeb Orrelios was the one man, the one person, in the galaxy who could tell him even that the sky was green, and Kallus wouldn’t argue. He had put his life into Zeb’s hands back on Bahryn, and to be honest with himself, he hadn’t taken it out of them since.

As he sobbed, it felt like he was crying out the fog in his mind, releasing the confusion and the haze with his tears. He became sharply aware of the way Zeb’s claws dug into his flesh, each singular point of contact distinguishable from the others.

When he stopped crying, he also became aware of the way he had completely emotionally compromised himself. Even though he wasn’t in the Empire anymore, it was still hard to not think in their terms, and baring your bleeding heart to someone you were in love with wasn’t exactly Empire-approved protocol.

“I’m sorry,” he started.

Zeb rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to apologize, Kallus,” he said. “You’re hurt, of course you’re going to cry.”

Kallus tried to focus on the pain in his leg and not the irritation he was discovering in Zeb’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “If you worried.”

Zeb snorted. “If I worried? If? I know I’m not the easiest guy to read, Kal, but come on!”

Kallus’s throat constricted. “I wasn’t sure if you…it’s hard to judge how much you….” He trailed off and didn’t bother trying to finish. He wasn’t about to say something stupid and prideful and drive Zeb away.

“Who is it, Kal? I know you don’t love me, and I have no right to worry about you like I do, but I can at least give him the shovel talk.”

Kallus grabbed Zeb’s hand, despite the pain that shot up his arm at the movement and the accompanying spike of nausea. He simply prayed he wouldn’t throw up as he spoke. “Now who’s not doing his reading right?” he asked. He thought his voice sounded slightly hysterical. He wondered if it sounded worse to Zeb. “It’s you."

Zeb stared at him.

“You’ve been doing all those stupid, risky things because of me?” Noticing the look on Kallus’s face, he raised one barely-existent eyebrow. “I’m good at guessing,” he said dryly. "Actually, Sabine figured it out, but I should've seen through it myself."

“That girl's the only one with any sense around here,” Kallus muttered. “I had to be sure you would believe me when I said it. That you would see I’ve worked hard to be a better man, maybe not one worthy of you, but I think I am a decent man now and I really do love you.”

“Kallus, I would’ve believed you if you said it in the middle of the jungle after taking a few days’ leave—which, by the way, the doctor’s ordered you to take. Doing your best for the Rebellion and killing yourself for it aren’t the same, and before you started taking those risks, you were doing your best.”

"I can always do more," Kallus said. "I would give my life to convince you that I love you."

Zeb sighed, taking Kallus's hand in his. "But I'm telling you, you don't have to. And I wouldn't want you to. What's the point of telling me that you love me if you die and leave me alone?"

Kallus was now aware of nothing but those bright green eyes and the warm, strong hand in his own, which felt weak from unconsciousness and pain. It finally reached the processing part of his brain: Zeb wanted to believe Kallus loved him because....

That was why he'd seemed strange before. He'd thought Kallus was putting his life and limbs on the line for someone else—and there was only one reason why that would change his behavior so.

"Say it, Garazeb. I need to hear you say it back."

Zeb didn't hesitate, only pausing to study Kallus's face as though he never wanted to look at anything else as long as he lived, before repeating Kallus's words and making all of the sacrifice and recklessness worth it.

"I love you."

[martianbugsbunny]

To Convince You That I Love You (A Kalluzeb Fic): Chapter 2

*staring and waving thru the window* I'm really enjoying this fic, it's I think four chapters, so it's already halfway done lol, and it's loads of fun. And speaking of fun Kallus is going to pass out and be sped back to the Ghost for emergency transport to medical facilities!!! Woo-hoo!!! This one's from Zeb's POV, so strap y'allselves in and get ready for him to be completely wigging about what happened to Kallus but also being as gentle as possible when moving him bc I am such a sucker for that. Read on and enjoy!

Zeb heard the explosion and instantly fired the last three shots he needed to finish off the stormtroopers with perfect precision. He sprinted towards the landing pad, fear shooting through him. Come on, Kal, please don’t have been in the blast.

The shuttle was a smoking ruin, the metal buckling against the inferno inside. That agent they had been tracking was dead. There was no way she could have survived.

But Zeb didn’t care about the mission anymore. He filtered out the smoldering pile of rubble and scanned his surroundings for any sign of Kallus.

Finally he saw Kallus lying several yards away from the shuttle, thrown by the power of the blast. Zeb sprinted over, moving faster than he could remember doing in a long time. His palms were sweating and he could hardly feel his legs, he was so terrified. Losing Kallus was…well, it was his personal worse-case scenario.

He knelt down. Kallus’s leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and there was a piece of metal embedded in his upper arm. Worse, his nose was bleeding heavily, and there were dark bruises around his eyes and behind his ears: sure signs of a head injury. Somehow, though, he was still (barely) awake.

“Something’s not right,” he muttered. He couldn’t seem to focus his gaze on Zeb’s face. “Everything’s…foggy.”

Then his eyes fell shut and his head tipped to one side, the muscles in his neck slack.

Zeb slung his bo-rifle onto his back. There was no good way to pick Kallus up, with one of each limb wounded, so he simply did his best to support Kallus’s legs above the injured joint and thanked his lucky stars that his wounded arm was not the one that ended up held tightly against Zeb’s chest.

Kanan and Sabine had long since cleared out the troopers who had pinned down the Ghost. In fact, Zeb wondered for a moment why they hadn’t bothered reinforcing him and Kallus—but they were both trained soldiers and neither of them had commed for help, so there had really been no reason to worry.

Well, except for the fact that there was.

Zeb climbed aboard the Ghost and found Kanan and the kids debating over a topographic map he didn’t recognize at the holo-table. “There’s an outpost not too far from here, we could make a supply run before returning to base,” Ezra suggested.

“While we have an Imperial agent on board? Not gonna happen,” Sabine said. Zeb noticed that despite her confident tone, she still looked to Kanan for confirmation.

Kanan was saved from having to pick a side when he heard the sound of the ramp closing and turned to look at Zeb. “Ezra, go tell Hera to get the ship moving, now!” he commanded sharply. Ezra was turning pale, having gotten a look at the bloodied condition Kallus was in, but he did as he was told.

Zeb set Kallus down on the floor. “Let me guess: the explosion?” Sabine asked. Explosions were fairly run-of-the-mill for the Rebellion (especially when it came to the Specters) and hearing one in the distance wasn’t necessarily taken as a sign that someone was in trouble.

“Yeah.” Zeb found his throat tight, a pricking sensation he wasn’t used to irritating his eyes. “There were two Imperial fighters. They aimed for him and got the agent’s entire shuttle instead.”

Kanan wrapped his hand around Kallus’s wrist. It wasn’t the standard method of measuring a heartbeat, but his Jedi powers probably made it practical enough.

“We need to get him back to base soon,” Kanan said quietly. “Or he might not make it.”

Zeb paced to the edge of the room and slammed his fist down onto a crate. Kallus was always doing stupid things like this—putting himself in danger, taking too many risks, going way too far. When would enough be enough?

If Zeb had anything to say about it, Kallus would see the light sooner rather than later…if he lived to wake up again.

[martianbugsbunny]

Don’t You Know It’s Because He Loves You? (A Kalluzeb Fic)

Hey lovies! Also had this sitting in my drafts, for no reason other than I am allergic to tagging Tumblr posts, but in light of a certain cameo which shall remain unnamed (even if context has probably given it away here tbh) I decided to just go ahead and tag it so I could post it. This lil thing was hexpecially fun (and yes, I am also an EAH fan) because I splashed in a bit of Lasat culture headcanon, which is one of the Kalluzeb tropes ever. Read on and enjoy!

Kallus threw his jacket at the wall, flexing his bloody bicep as pain shot through the muscles. “Why did he do that?” he demanded, of nobody in particular. “He didn’t throw anyone else aside like that.” He swallowed, tears and bitterness choking him. “He still doesn’t trust me.”

Ezra stared at Kallus in surprise. “I thought you knew,” he said. His tone was sincere, but Kallus still searched it—and his expression—for mockery.

“Knew what?” he sighed.

Ezra’s face shifted, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to go on, or if he even should. “Alright. Well…okay. Okay, the first thing is, Zeb didn’t throw you out of the way on that mission because he didn’t trust you to get the job done right. He did it to protect you.”

“He doesn’t do that.”

“Not for other people, no.”

Kallus bit back a sharp comment. “I’m still not seeing the point,” he said tersely.

“On Lasan, he was a member of the Honor Guard. You probably already know that. In the Guard, it was typical not to interfere with another person’s part in battle. It was dishonorable. It showed that you didn’t respect that person as a warrior.”

“I feel so much better,” Kallus grumbled. He sat down, his head in his hands. His sleeve was stiff with dried blood; he was acutely aware of the pain, now that his battle adrenaline was fading, but too tired to visit the medic just yet.

“He doesn’t protect me, or Kanan, or Sabine like that, because he’s following the traditions that dictated the first decades of his life. But on Lasan, there was also a rule that you could—Zeb sometimes says ‘should’—protect the person you loved. It’s a two-way thing, too; it sort of means you trust someone enough to put your life in their hands, which was the highest honor possible in the Honor Guard.  It doesn’t make total sense to me, I’ll admit, but—Kallus, are you alright?”

At first he thought his head was spinning from blood loss. Maybe it was, how should he know?

Then he realized what it really was. The words were sinking in and he was lightheaded from joy. Fear. More joy.

He got up and left Ezra standing in the cargo bay, confused. Kallus wanted to laugh aloud, but was already running and didn’t have the breath to spare.

“Garazeb!”

He shouted the name the second he got within eyesight of Zeb. (Not that it was hard to be within eyesight of him; he was seven feet tall, at least.)

“Kal?” Zeb sounded confused…Kallus couldn’t blame him. He would’ve been confused, too.

“Why did you protect me?” he asked, out of breath. “Tell me why.”

Zeb’s bright green eyes flickered. He reached out to touch Kallus’ arm. “You should go to the medical center,” he said quietly.

“You’re protecting me again,” Kallus replied with equal softness. “Please tell me it’s true.”

“Who tried to explain it?” Zeb asked, his pointed ears flattened against his head.

“Ezra,” Kallus said, trying to keep the triumph from his voice. Zeb growled, rolling his eyes. “Garazeb?”

Zeb rubbed one clawed hand up and down his opposite arm, nervous or uncomfortable—Kallus wasn’t quite sure which. He hoped it wasn’t the latter. “First: he is going to pay for saying anything,” Zeb grumbled. “And second…yeah. The kid’s right. I protected you—I always protect you—because I’m…in love with you.”

Kallus finally gave in to the urge and laughed. Zeb stepped back; Kallus realized in that moment Zeb probably hadn’t heard him really laugh before. “I promise I’m not laughing at you,” Kallus assured him. “I’m just—I’m thrilled,” he said happily, shrugging his shoulders. Zeb’s ears perked up, and his eyes widened a bit.

“I love you too, Garazeb. Your life is safe in my care.”

[martianbugsbunny]

Torn Between Love And Fear (A Scogan Fic)

*decked out in yellow spandex* I've written my first Scogan fic! I'm literally so excited; I'm in love love love with these guys, both as characters and as a ship, so I just couldn't help myself! It's a lil spicy but not in like a salacious way (I don't think), it's more along the line of how a couple who have been together for a while and are still incredibly hot for each other would be. It sort of flows between angsty and spicy, so strap yourselves in and get yourselves ready! Also, be prepared for both Logan and Scott to be pretty soft at times, because the peak Scogan dynamic is bickering and sniping but also totally committed and in love. Please don't yell at me for my depiction of whether or not Scott's laser eyes could kill Logan (told you there were angsty parts lol); I went with the level of regenerative ability in that scenario that I thought worked best with the story.

Read on and enjoy!

Logan pulled out of Scott, spent, and kissed the side of Scott’s neck with a grin. “That noise you were making? I’m gonna have to hear that again,” he whispered, his voice low and slightly hoarse with the remnants of desire. He cupped one hand around Scott’s face, running his thumb across Scott’s tightly-closed eyelid. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that he could never see what color his partner’s eyes were, or that they could never lock eyes in the heat of the moment and see in each other reflected passion and euphoria.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Scott replied, that sarcastic bite in his tone dulled by an affectionate smile. He reached towards the nightstand for his visor; it had been a bit of a battle to get him even to take that off, but Logan really did prefer to at least be able to kiss him where usually the visor would be.

Logan took the opportunity to trace a small bruised spot on the back of Scott’s shoulder. “See? This is why.” He’d dug his fingers into the skin there, utterly blissed out on the heady sounds Scott was making that were in a sweet spot between screaming and moaning.

Scott laughed, sliding the visor back on over his eyes. “Yes, because I want your dirty fingers leaving behind more of those.”

Wrapping his arms around Scott, Logan pressed his lips to the mark, just barely grazing it with his teeth in the process. “I know you do,” Logan said. It wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last, eagerly welcomed bruise left on Scott’s body from an amorous, if rough, touch.

Scott shivered, then swatted at Logan’s hands. “Babe,” he scolded. “Don’t mess with me like that. Just because you don’t have a refractory period—”

“Yeah, I know. I’m Superman.”

Scott rolled his eyes (it was one of his greatest annoyances that Logan couldn’t actually see it when he did that) and handed Logan his tank top. There was a hesitance in his movements that made Logan uncomfortable; he was sure he knew where this was headed, and he didn’t like it.

“Logan, let me sleep with you tonight,” Scott said.

“We’ve had this conversation before.” Logan pulled away from Scott, putting on his shirt. “I have nightmares. Sometimes I can’t control when my claws come out, it’s not safe for you to be here.”

“Every time I say ‘I trust you,’ ‘I love you,’ ‘You wouldn’t hurt me,’ and every time I have to give up and leave,” Scott said more insistently. “I do trust you, and I do love you, that’s true, but yes, you also might hurt me. And I don’t care. It isn’t enough for me to leave your room and sleep alone, when we’ve just been as close as two people can possibly be and I want to keep your arms around me.”

Logan shook his head, unable to meet Scott’s gaze. He still remembered, vividly, the time he’d almost killed Rogue because he’d been having a nightmare and stabbed her without knowing it—and worse, the moment he realized what he had done; the spots of blood on her clothes and the look of pain and betrayal in her eyes.

And, he harbored no illusions about it, she had only survived because she could steal his regenerative abilities and heal herself. Logan knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he accidentally stabbed Scott and had to watch as his partner, the man he loved most in the world, bled out on the sheets that had been so recently clenched in his fists.

“Scott, I…I can’t.”

They were always torn here, between Scott’s “Shouldn’t I be allowed to choose to risk it myself?” And Logan’s “I’m the one who would have to live with it.”

Scott turned Logan back to face him, his hands so gentle it made Logan shake. That was what he couldn’t lose. “Logan, every time I take my visor off, I could kill you—look at me, Logan, this is serious.” It was still hard to meet his stare, which had softened at the same time it had gotten firmer. “If I opened my eyes for a second you could die.” Logan's regenerative powers were impressive, but a point-blank laser blast to his upper body would still probably be the end of him.

“But,” Scott continued, “I go visorless anyway, because it’s important to you that you can see, and touch, all of me while we’re having sex. If we can take that chance, why not this one?”

“I love you,” was all Logan could come up with. I would rather die than let you was a hard thing to say.

“One night, Logan. At least give me one night.”

Logan caught Scott’s face between his hands and kissed him, so much more delicately and slowly than he had before. It felt like melting; like if they just lingered in that embrace for long enough they might become one and be unable to ever split themselves apart.

I want you. I love you. You’re pissing me off. These were all things Scott was used to feeling in Logan’s kisses. I’m afraid for you was not.

“If you really want me to go—”

“One night,” Logan broke in. “Maybe I can do that. Everything has a first step, right?”

“Thank you,” Scott said, shifting forward to straddle Logan’s lap. “You know how much this means to me.”

Logan moved his hands down to Scott’s waist, rubbing his hipbones to distract himself from the overwhelming sense of fear. “I have one condition. Non-negotiable.” “Name it, babe.”

“I’m not going to have my arms around you. Having my hands so close to your head or your chest would make it too easy to hurt you.”

“Deal.” Scott leaned forward to speak directly into Logan’s ear, his voice deep and incredibly warm. “I’m proud of you, Logan. And tomorrow morning, since I’ll already be here, I plan on showing you just how much I appreciate this in some very obscene ways.”

Logan groaned, pushing Scott off his lap with absolutely no grace. “If you’re going to complain about my refractory period—”

“You mean your lack of one,” Scott grumbled, pulling Logan down on top of him.

“Then don’t get me all excited when you and I can’t go together, asshole,” Logan finished.

Scott slowly took off his visor, setting it on the sheets off to the side. “I think tonight you’ve earned round two, if you’re gentle.” He laced his fingers together with Logan’s, guiding them up to trace the mark Logan had left earlier. “Well…gentle in some spots.”

“Obscene in others?”

Scott laughed, a much more sultry sound than Logan was used to laughter being. “Mark me up.”

Logan wanted little more than to thrust into Scott that minute, but he paused, hovering over Scott, studying the way the lines on his face became more apparent as he held his eyes carefully closed.

“I really do love you, Scott,” he said. “That you’re willing to do this for me, even if it scares you.”

“You know why I do?”

“I think I can guess.” Because Scott loved Logan the same way Logan loved him. Because it was the same reason Logan had agreed to let Scott sleep with him.

“Then shut up and take me, babe.”

[martianbugsbunny]

Sweetheart Will You Sleep With Me (A Cherik Fic)

*Sliding in wearing a turtleneck and rainbow suspenders* *bc Erik would slay in rainbow suspenders* Yyyyyeahhh this totally started out as a fluffy "hey, wouldn't it be neat if instead of that weird-ass thing with Raven, Erik went to bed with Charles after their chess game?" (but not in that way, don't get too excited lol) BUT it turned into kind of an angsty "if this is our last night in the world as we know it, I don't want to spend a minute of that night without you" so....it's fun! (Plus, it's got some little spoon Erik bc I'm absolutely soft for that hehe) Read on and enjoy!

Charles didn’t say another word about Erik killing Shaw. He wanted to explain; wanted to say “I don’t really care if you kill him, I’m just terrified of where it will lead you,” but he didn’t want to make the tension between them snap and splinter into dozens more sharp words.

So he sat there playing chess for the next two hours as though the world wasn’t going to end tomorrow. Even if they didn’t fail, and it wasn’t the world that was going headfirst into oblivion, Charles was almost certain that his world would be—and he had to ignore that and try to focus on not letting Erik get check to his king.

(Which he did. Erik was better at chess, marginally, than Charles was.)

He wanted to stay up longer. Forever. He didn’t want what might be his last night alive to end. He really didn’t want what might be his last happy moment with Erik to be over.

But he was human, so his eyes began to feel heavy. In their fourth game of the evening, Charles made more than his usual number of stupid mistakes, and he caught Erik scrutinizing him from across the table.

“You’re exhausted, Charles,” he said quietly, taking Charles�� second knight. “You’ll be of no use tomorrow if you’re like this.”

“I’m fine,” Charles said shortly. He resisted the temptation to rub at his eyes and push the tiredness away. “These games—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Erik said, a little more firmly. “I may not be the telepath here, but I can feel the need for sleep rolling off of you anyway. You’re a grown man, so get your ass to bed and stop acting so childish.”

Charles dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I don’t want to—it’s—I can’t—Damnit, Erik, I might lose you tomorrow and I don’t want to waste minutes I could be spending with you now!”

The words had felt like they were going to split his skull if he kept them inside his own mind any longer. Still, Charles bit his tongue and got up to leave the library, certain that he’d said too much; he could’ve lived with that horrible pressure, could’ve kept his fears to himself, and yet he’d gone and spoiled a fine, if stressed, friendship with his fumbling outburst. A few lingering touches and strangely intimate glances were not an invitation to feel the way he did.

Then he felt a strong hand (Erik’s hands were so broad, so strong, so capable of gentleness) on his elbow. “Charles,” he said. It was all he needed to say, really. Charles could hear the marbled emotions pitching about in his tone, and he could name each of them.

Anger. That one haunted Erik more often than anything, and that one Charles would recognize in his voice more clearly than any other. He thought it would probably never quite leave Erik. Grief. He had to admit, he usually heard that one when Erik was thinking about the past, not about an anticipated pain in the future, but it didn’t escape his notice that he and Erik were apparently expecting the same thing. Exasperation. Charles knew that one well, too—but this time it was tempered by….

Fondness. Charles gave it that name because it wasn’t quite love, not yet, not so soon, not with so many walls Erik still had around his heart, but it was something sweet and kind and gentle, something that wanted to hold his hand and never let go, something that Erik held in the deepest parts of himself so the anger and bitterness couldn’t touch it and turn it sour.

It gave him all the encouragement he needed. Charles turned back towards Erik and smiled, reaching over to take his hand. “Erik, will you sleep with me tonight?” he asked.

Erik smiled, a kind of unguarded smile Charles had only seen from him once before: during their training exercise earlier that day. (What it did to him to know Erik only lit up like that for him.) “Yes, Charles, I will.” He brought Charles’ hand up to his lips and kissed his knuckles, then let Charles lead him upstairs to his bedroom.

Charles still wanted to stay awake; he wanted to carve the feeling of laying there curled against Erik’s back into his brain so it would never fade away. He wanted to remember every detail: the faint starlight coming in through the window; the soft, rhythmic motion of Erik’s torso expanding with each breath; the way Erik continued to hold onto one of his hands even as he slept.

But Erik’s hair smelled of Charles’ shampoo (besides Raven’s, it was the only kind in the house, and Erik hadn’t raised a fuss about it) and that was both strange and wonderful in its intimacy, and Erik was soft beneath his well-toned muscles, relaxed in sleep. Charles finally closed his eyes, lulled into a fleeting sense of peace by the domesticity of the moment.

[martianbugsbunny]

We Are Mandalorians: Our Love Must Be Forged (An AxePaz Fic)—Chapter 1

Hello, sweeties! This is a rivals-to-lovers fix-it AxePaz fic (the fix-it is for Paz’s death and the rivals-to-lovers takes a lot of bickering and homoerotic sparring, and some softer moments too). I guess it’s probably obvious, but Axe is going to be the one who saves Paz eventually. They’re gonna spelunk on Mandalore together, they’re gonna fight, they’re gonna have a great time—and so are you! Enjoy!

Axe had kept his eye on the larger, taciturn Mandalorian of the Watch since they left Nevarro’s orbit. He was a Vizsla—and they were a dangerous clan. A Vizsla in ancient times had been the one to forge the Darksaber, the symbol of the Manda’lor, and although the blade had changed hands many times throughout history, Vizslas always seemed to end up fighting to win it back.

Now, as he watched, Paz Vizsla knelt down in front of a child, probably no more than eight or nine, and laid a large hand on his shoulder. “You must stay here, Ragnar,” he said. Axe studied the child’s helmet; the colors were the same as those on Paz’s. This must be his child, Axe realized with jolt. He hadn’t pictured Paz as a family man—but he was quite gentle with his son, despite how little room for argument his tone left, and Axe knew instantly Paz had fulfilled the great calling of a Mandalorian in being a worthy parent. “Behave yourself,” Paz continued. “Don’t touch the weapons that aren’t for training, and don’t start fights with the younger children.”

Ragnar nodded, and Paz leaned the forehead of his helmet against his son’s. “I will return soon,” Paz said.

He stood and squeezed his son’s shoulder, then turned towards the rest of the landing party. Many of them, Axe had seen give their goodbyes already; some had none to give. There were only a few who had not yet arrived.

“What are you looking at?” Paz asked brusquely. Axe stared at him. “It’s rude to eavesdrop, Nite Owl.”

Axe felt anger rear up within him. He never gave much effort to restraining himself; it seemed a waste of energy. He knew he could win almost any fight, and what’s more, most of the people he spent time with on a daily basis knew it, too.

Paz didn’t back down when Axe stepped up, toe-to-toe, each with a hand threateningly close to his blaster. “You were speaking in plain sight,” Axe said. There was an edge buried deep in his tone that was sharper than the edge of the vibroblade holstered on his arm, which most failed to detect. Paz, however, seemed to hear every dark thing the inflection promised, and cracked his neck to one side.

“Alright, Mandalorians, it’s time to move out!”

Bo-Katan Kryze’s voice broke through the ranks of the gathered Mandalorians. Axe could almost see it coming between him and Paz, an invisible wall preventing any bloodshed on the deck of the ship.

Paz stared at him for a few moments. Axe didn’t like that he could never see what the Children of the Watch were thinking; he preferred an opponent whose eyes he could read. “Watch your step, Nite Owl,” Paz said, before turning to follow the others to the bay where their landing ship was waiting.

As Axe purposefully lengthened his stride to walk in front of Paz, he felt his anger making room for something else, something that had been born in him the moment he saw Paz with his son...though it was fed by much less tender things.

He had enjoyed stepping up to the cobra’s dance of a proper standoff. He loved the adrenaline that shot through him when Paz had refused to give, the sickeningly thrilling anticipation at the idea of actually dueling him.

He shoved that back down as he buckled himself into the seat, but he also pushed his anger away. He needed his head clear for the recon mission.

Then Paz walked into the ship and sat down right next to him, and suddenly keeping emotion to a minimum seemed a much more daunting task.